


Study: San Francisco

by owlaholic68



Series: Fallout: Case Studies [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Senses, Short One Shot, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-07 21:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14089716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: Chinatown. The Golden Gate Bridge. Five senses.





	1. Sight: the gate

Night was falling, and someone was lighting the paper lanterns, perched on a ladder and hanging precariously to one side.

Carla stops the car a good distance away from the gate, turning off the engine and checking her supply of small energy cells. The indicator on the Highwayman’s energy reserve is getting low. She should stop by a store here and pick up some more.

“We’re here,” she calls back to Goris, who uncurls from his position in the backseat, his long tail thumping against the floor. “Let’s get going, sleepyhead.”

He yawns, his eyes the same color as the paper lanterns. He dons his cape and joins her in front of the large red gate. In the setting sun, the golden snakes on the top seem to glow, like a bracelet that Carla saw one time in Reno, gold like the pommel of a gun worn down and unpolished, gold like a flash of a Gecko jumping at you, its teeth glinting and its hot breath hitting your face-

She shakes herself and walks under the gate, craning back her head to look up at the lanterns, waving to the boy lighting them. The light they give off is smooth and full, the delicate paper creations swaying gently in the wind.


	2. Taste: salty

“What an odd contraption to use for consuming food,” Goris muses, carefully turning over his pair of chopsticks.

“It’s traditional, I think.” Carla fumbles to hold them correctly, but finally manages to wrangle them into a proper grip, picking up a noodle and showing Goris. He nods in admiration, his red eyes following her movements and trying to copy them. Eventually, though, he gives up, using his long claws like chopsticks. Nobody’s paying attention to them, sitting in the back of the crowd gathering for the evening’s fight.

The noodles are so salty they’re almost sweet. The water used to make the broth probably came from the nearby ocean, and the chunks of cooked fish and wasteland vegetables are like individual grains of salt, the earthy taste lingering on Carla’s tongue long after she’s finished eating. She sets aside her bowl and chopsticks, licking her dry lips. A swig of water chases away the sandiness of her tongue.

The air here is salty too, a fainter, gentler, touch that tickles her nose too. It worms its way into her lungs. Arroyo hadn’t been too far from the coast, but here, in sight of the water, it’s impossible to not notice. It’s worse out on the docks, Carla knows, except out there the air tastes of trash and waste, smothering the clean salty breeze.


	3. Smell: too clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence at the end, non graphic.

This is cloying, an absence of scent that burns her nose. It’s bright and clean, the metal surfaces shining.

“Welcome, welcome,” the AHS-7 murmurs, waving a hand as she passes through the door, Goris behind her, the forcefield coming back to life a few seconds after they pass.

Even this should have some scent, a sparking ozone smell that all forcefields have. She knows it well. It had sunk into her head at the Sierra Army Depot, the endless maze of forcefields and wires choking out her breath after a while. But this one smells like nothing: no sparks, no electric hum.

She feels dirty and rough in comparison, sand from her boots trailing behind her as she walks down the gleaming corridors of the Hubologist’s bunker. Is there someone in charge of cleaning this place that is currently fretting and panicking, walking behind her to clean up her mess? Or does this place just suck up every smell and stain, leaving nothing behind? If blood was spilt on these floors, would it stay? Would it seep into the crack between the tiles, or would it be scrubbed clean?

There’s a kitchen in this bunker, and Carla passes by it, turning her head to peek in the doorway. The food here seems to be bland too: there’s a faint smell of cooking food, faint enough that she almost doesn’t pick it up, if not for the fact that there’s no other smell here. But it’s a bland smell, like if someone was cooking sand.

Maybe that’s your first meal when you join the Hubologists: a dinner where someone ladles a mushy mess of sand onto your plate, and you take a spoon and dig in, until every inch of feeling and humanity is worn down and eroded away. That wouldn’t surprise her.

“Carla,” Goris whispers, shaking her shoulder. She startles, then gives him a shaky nod. Right. Their mission. They can’t let this place get to them.

When the AHS-9 bleeds and it hits her nostrils, she almost screams with feeling: it’s hot and sharp and exactly how blood should smell. And it stays, too, seeping into her shoes and soaking into her skin, until all she can smell is the blood, but that’s better than smelling nothing, than being stuck in this directionless, formless hell one minute longer.


	4. Sound: the docks

Carla winces at the shriek of metal under her feet. Goris’ claws scratch on the rusty gangplank that leads into the tanker.

Behind them, the wind whistles through the holes in the dock, weaving in between the piers and skimming over the roofs of the ramshackle huts on the beach. Across the docks, Shi workers shout and yell to each other, their voices drowned out by waves breaking against the shore.

Above their heads as they enter the hulking tanker, chains rattle and machinery shifts, an eerie creaking sound. Carla shivers.

The inside of the tanker is mostly quiet, vagrants keeping to themselves, leaning against walls, cigarettes dangling carelessly between their fingers. But the creaks and groans of the vessel echo in here like the yawns and snores of some ancient beast, sleeping for centuries, waiting to be awoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely listened to the soundtrack song "Many Contrasts" (the San Francisco ambient music) while writing this!


	5. Touch: Inventory

She’d forgotten about the vertibird plans. She has to dig through the trunk of the Highwayman to find it, muttering to herself about organizing the space.

Smooth metal armor, tough leather gauntlets, rubber boots, her spare Enclave set of power armor. She heaves all of that out of the trunk and onto the ground. The edge of the rubber boots slides against the skin of her arm and she shivers.

There’s a little more room now in the trunk. She grabs small boxes of ammunition, the worn cardboard crinkling under her fingers. She scrubs away the dust and sand covering one of the labels. HN Needler cartridges. She’s never even had a gun that uses them. And why does she have a bundle of _rockets_ in here?

“Goris,” she calls over her shoulder. “Can you bring some of this over to Mai and trade it? Bring it over to Lao too, then see if Doctor Fung wants some of these chems in exchange for more Stimpacks.”

“Certainly, though I must admit that we have plenty of Stimpacks,” Goris comments, scooping up some of the boxes and a few of the larger guns. His sharp claws slide off the barrel of a pulse rifle. Why does Carla even _have_ this? She never uses any energy weapons.

“Thanks. And we can _never_ have enough Stimpacks.” Speaking of which, she sets aside a few first aid kits, then bags and bags brimming full of healing items. It never hurt to be prepared.

The microfusion cells are heavy, the rusting cases leaving flakes of grime on her fingers. She doesn’t bother taking them out, only pushing them to one side. They were already pretty organized anyways. Chasing a thought, she peeks up at the fuel gauge of the car, then grabs the charging cables. She runs her thumb over the sharp terminals of the battery, feeling a faint charge. The cables plug in, though she has to wiggle them a bit to make sure they’re attached properly before connecting it to the car.

Back to those vertibird plans. She pulls out piles of more guns, then comes the odder items: holodisks concerning quests long-forgotten. There’s even one that has “To: Roger Westin” written neatly on it, and Carla has to wrack her brain before remembering that _Lynette_ had asked her to deliver it a few months ago. Oops. She winces and sets it aside, giving the smooth plastic case an apologetic pat. It’s not like she can go back in to Vault City to apologize now.

An extra container of bio-med gel. It nearly slips out of her hands, and she quickly verifies that the lid is on securely. Two copies of the Cat’s Paw magazine, the paper worn smooth, the edges tattered despite her best efforts at preserving them.

Two actual human _eyes_ , and she gags. They are wet and cold in her hands as she chucks them away. A clipboard detailing the Gecko power plant coolant problem, a deck of strange cards, Gecko pelts that she hasn’t had time to get up to Klamath to sell. A lighter, a shovel, a motor, a radio, a Vault 13 flask. Two pairs of boxing gloves. She weighs them carefully in her hands before setting the lighter one aside to keep and the heavier one to sell. She’s not in the habit of cheating during matches, after all.

Finally, tucked into a corner, rolled up into a waterproof case, are the vertibird plans that Matthew had made for her. She dusts some sand off the case before setting it carefully aside, tapping it once for good luck.

Then she sighs and looks at the mess she’s made. There’s still more ammunition and supplies in the trunk, plus the pile of junk she’s made around herself. She rolls up her sleeves, the warm sun lighting up her dark arms. After all, the Shi can wait a little bit longer for those plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my own confused searching through the Highwayman's trunk in search of something specific, and find all of the weird crap I keep in there. Yes, I'm definitely going to need that password sheet later, and yes, I definitely do need ammo for guns I don't have. I just found the plasma gun in there recently in my current playthrough. I am not, and have never been, a user of energy weapons. 
> 
> Here's a quick rundown of some highlights:  
> Oh, sorry, First Citizen Lynette, I literally never delivered that holodisk. Not that sorry, but still...  
> Bio-mel gel, eyes, and motor- Sierra Army Depot  
> Clipboard, deck of "Tragic" cards- Gecko  
> The boxing gloves- one is the Masticator's plated pair, one is Carla's normal set
> 
> So much junk...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks @kourumi on tumblr for the idea!


End file.
